Something wasn’t right.
The Senator checked his watch again. Jonas heard footsteps inside.
“Senator...” Jonas started, not knowing what his next words should be.
The pinpoint of light in the security eye disappeared as the person inside looked through it.
It was wrong, Jonas thought. All wrong. There was no team of FBI agents in there.
The lock on the door slid open.
The Senator turned to Jonas, a tired look on his face. “Hmm?”
There was no time to react. The door opened wide and on the other side stood Rudiger, holding a 9MM handgun in his right hand and a Taser in his left.
Both were pointed at Senator Sidams.
44
“YOU HAVE three seconds to move into the room.” Rudiger took a step back and held the door open with his foot. “You first, Senator.”
Jonas felt his stance reflexively shift to a defensive one as the Senator remained motionless.
“Don’t, Lieutenant,” Rudiger said, training the gun on him. To Sidams: “Now, Senator.”
Sidams walked into the room, his steps small. Jonas followed, and Rudiger’s gun remained pointed at Jonas’s head. Rudiger stepped away as Jonas entered the room, giving more space between the men.
In the room Rudiger ordered them to sit next to each other on the bed with their hands on their knees.
“Where’s the Ambassador?” Rudiger said.
Jonas listened to the voice. It was lower than the one on the phone, but he could sense the familiarity. Same drawl. “It was you,” Jonas said. “There is no David Preiss.”
“There is a David Preiss. You jes weren’t talking to him. I asked a question. Where’s the Ambassador?”
“I didn’t call him.” It was the first time Sidams spoke. “And I’m goddamn glad I didn’t. What the hell do you think you’re doing, anyway?”
Rudiger’s face was a blank canvas as he stood silently, pointing the weapons with both hands. Jonas studied the man and tried to reconcile him with the person he remembered. He was older than the young soldier in Somalia, but that was a given. He was more than just older. His face showed the lines of a lifetime—not wrinkles, but deep creases of someone who spent his life never looking in the mirror. His hair was shaved to a blonde fuzz that sloped in a V down the top of his forehead. Except for the shark-grey scar running down the left side of his head, the man’s skin was the color of milk. Rudiger wore a tight grey t-shirt over dark grey suit pants, and his physique was even more impressive than what Jonas remembered. The muscles in his arms could have been sculpted by an artist.
Rudiger was completely motionless, the weapons raised at eye level.
“We need to get him,” Rudiger finally said. “I specifically told you to bring him.”
Jonas noticed Rudiger struggled with eye contact. “Where’s Anne?” Jonas asked, keeping his voice as calm as possible.
Rudiger pulled a cell phone from his front pocket and handed it to Jonas. There was a picture on the screen.
Anne.
All he could see was her face, lit up in green, like a nighttime video shot with an infrared camera. The camera was close to her face, and her eyes dated back and forth, but her head barely moved. Her pupils were dilated, so Jonas knew she must be in the dark. She looked desperate. Panicked.
Rudiger pulled the phone away.
“You see, Lieutenant. She’s running out of air.”
“I swear to God I’ll kill you.”
“Maybe you jes will, sir. Maybe you jes will.” He turned to the Senator. “Call Stages.”
The Senator asked blandly, “And if I won’t?”
“Then she dies. Don’t believe me?”
Sidams nodded. “I believe you.”
Jonas looked at his boss. He wanted to tell him not to make the call, but he couldn’t.
Sidams picked up his phone. Before he could dial, Rudiger spoke.
“If you call anyone else, I’ll shoot both of you. Then she dies.”
No you won’t, Jonas thought, soaking Rudiger’s image into his mind. You need us, and you need Stages. You can’t just kill us in this hotel room—that would be meaningless to you. You need us for your special event.
Sidams dialed and spoke in a normal voice into the phone. “Bill, yeah, it’s Robert. Listen, I know it’s early, but I need you to come to room 407 in the next ten minutes. It’s important.” He listened as Stages asked something. “I’ll explain when you get here. And...sorry.” Rudiger raised the gun a fraction of an inch. “Sorry...um...for waking you.”
He disconnected the call. “He’s on his way.”
“If he brings anyone else, the other person will have to be killed.” Rudiger made the pronouncement as more of statement of fact rather than threat. “I just need the three of you. Anyone else will be left in this room.”
Sidams looked down at his hands. “What do you want?” Jonas marveled at how calm the Senator’s words were. “Want you to listen to me and stop asking questions.”
“But now we have ten extra minutes you hadn’t planned on. Seems like a good time for you to tell us what you intend to do.”
“Unnecessary. You’ll either do what I ask or people will die.”
“Not much for conversation, are you?”
Jonas thought of something. He turned to the Senator. “Some people think Rudiger here has Asperger’s Syndrome. It’s a form of autism. People who have it are usually...socially awkward.”
Rudiger lowered his weapons and checked his watch. “Doesn’t matter what you think my psychological condition is, neither.”
Jonas continued. “Some people think Dahmer had Asperger’s. That guy thought he was doing some kind of important work, but at the end of the day all he did was cook up some skulls for dinner.”
Sidams gave Jonas a look Jonas knew well. What are you doing?
Jonas gave his boss the slightest of nods, telling him to go with it.
He looked up at Rudiger. “You think you’re doing God’s work, Rudy? Is that it?”
“You have no idea what God’s work is.”
“When you killed that family in the Mog, that was God’s work, too?” Jonas stiffened his spine and leaned forward on the bed. “When you cut that baby’s head off, God told you to do that?”
“That,” Rudiger said in a hollow voice, “was a test.”
“A test? Is that what that was? Biting that little girl’s ear off—that was a test, too? Because it sure as shit just makes me think you’re crazy.”
“Don’t matter what you think.” Rudiger checked his watch again.
Sidams leaned forward and joined the conversation. “What I want to know is why this guy has such a hard-on for you, Jonas. First he tries to kill you in the Army, then he tries again outside your house.”
“And again now,” Jonas said.
“True. Guess he’s hoping the third time’s a charm.”
“Maybe he just likes a challenge. He hasn’t been able to kill me yet.”
Rudiger raised his gun. “Maybe I’ll just kill you now.”
“No,” Jonas said. He felt the heat rise through him. God, how he wanted to just slam that bastard against the wall and smash his fists into his face. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t because of Anne. Rudiger wasn’t bluffing. Jonas knew she would die if they didn’t do exactly what Rudiger wanted. “You need me,” Jonas continued. “You need me up on that cross, don’t you? Somewhere you have three crosses waiting for us, and if you shoot me now you won’t get what you want.”
Rudiger’s face twitched. “You have no idea what I want.”
“Then tell us,” the Senator said. “Listen, son, I’m not a psychologist, but I can pretty well guess that serial killers need psychological help. You can get that. We can help you.
Just tell us what you want.”
Rudiger suddenly rushed up to the Senator and shoved the gun into the neck, pressing Sidams down against the bed. Jonas jumped up and towered over Rudiger, poised to
strike.
“I’ll tell you what I want,” Rudiger said. “I want you to play your role, because you’re supposed to play your role. You don’t have a choice. It’s how it’s supposed to be. You are not the One, but you are still important.” His eyes closed and his hand shook as the barrel of the gun pressed harder into the Senator’s neck. “The sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light; the stars will fall from the sky, and the heavenly bodies will be shaken...” Rudiger seemed to have disappeared, replaced by something Jonas remembered from Somalia. He was the devil. The devil quoting scripture. “They will see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of the sky, with power and great glory... I tell you the truth, this generation will certainly not pass away until all these things have happened.”
Jonas had seconds to make his move. Rudiger’s back was to him. He could punch the gun away and square off for a fight. The Senator could grab the weapon and that would be it. It could be over in seconds.
Do it, Jonas. Now.
Now.
The adrenaline surged through his body. He readied himself. Rudiger was still on top of Sidams, and the Senator was now wheezing. We’ll take him alive, Jonas thought. He’ll tell us where Anne is. He will. We’ll make him, no matter what we have to do to him.
Do it now. Only seconds left. Don’t wait any longer. A knock at the door.
Jonas felt himself lose balance. The knock pulled him back just as he was ready to attack.
Rudiger pushed himself off Sidams and back into the middle of the room—it happened so fast Jonas barely had time to register what was happening. Rudiger was undeniably a powerful man, regardless of his mental state. He was both strong and fast, Jonas knew, and not to be underestimated.
Rudiger trained the gun on Jonas. “Would be a mistake,” Rudiger said. “I know you. You want to be the one in charge, but you can’t be. Not here. Not now. I don’t care about dying. But I promise you your girlfriend does.”
Jonas didn’t move. “Back on the bed.” Jonas sat.
Another knock at the door. “Stay still.”
Rudiger turned and went to door, looking through the security hole.
Jonas tensed.
Please, God. Let Stages be alone.
Rudiger took a step back into the room.
“Come here,” he said in a loud whisper to Sidams. “Open the door.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m telling you to. Move now.”
The Senator stood and walked slowly over to Rudiger. Jonas noticed a small round welt on the Senator’s neck where Rudiger had pressed the gun.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing. Just open the door and gesture for them to come inside.”
“Them?”
“Do it. Now.”
“Don’t,” the Senator said. “Don’t.”
Rudiger raised his gun. “Last chance. Open the door.”
“Don’t do this. I’m begging you.”
A third knock.
Rudiger steadied himself and drew a deep breath. Then he shoved the Senator with massive force back into the room, catching Sidams off-balance. He sprawled to the floor and missed slamming his head into the corner of the bedside desk by inches.
Jonas watched everything in slow motion.
Rudiger slipped both of his weapons in his belt and opened the door. His body blocked Jonas’s view, but only for a second. Rudiger grabbed Stages arm and yanked him inside the room. Like the Senator, Stages lost all control and his large body tumbled with a heavy thud onto the carpet. He had barely let out a What the fuck? before Jonas saw the second person standing there. It was a young man, maybe thirty, wearing a dark grey suit and a bright yellow tie. Jonas had met him before. Greg? Craig? He worked for the Ambassador, that’s all Jonas knew.
The man’s brown eyes widened in fear at what had just happened, but then grew even wider when Rudiger pulled out the gun.
“Inside,” Rudiger said.
Jonas shook his head at the man. Run, Jonas wanted to yell. Run.
The man took three tentative steps inside the room. His face lost all color.
Rudiger shut the door. Then locked it.
The Ambassador yelled. “What the hell is all this?”
The Senator watched everything from the floor. Jonas studied Rudiger’s eyes.
It was too late.
The Ambassador’s aide spoke one word to his boss. “Bill?” Rudiger reached down and pulled a knife from a sheath strapped to his ankle. Hunting knife. Black blade, about six inches.
No one had time to react.
Rudiger attacked from behind, grabbing a fistful of the aide’s hair, yanking back his head. The knife sliced his throat wide open. Blood sprayed against the cream-colored walls. Against the armoire.
The man barely made a sound as he collapsed and died on the well-worn carpet of the hotel room.
45
RUDIGER WATCHES the man fall to the carpeted floor, his body making a thud. Sounds like a suitcase falling off a bed. Then, nothing. Gone.
Wipes the blade on his pant leg and sheaths the weapon.
Good, Preacherman says in his ear. Nice and clean. You sure know your way around a knife, boy.
He feels it. Feels the rush. Just like every other time. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he only has himself to be honest with. Death warms him. Excites him. He feels power, even only for a fleeting moment. Makes him want to kill more.
Maybe it’s true, he thinks. Maybe I’m jes crazy.
A man is howling. Rudiger looks over. The Ambassador. “Shut up,” Rudiger says.
The man is hysterical. The fat hanging off his chin shakes and wobbles with his cries.
Rudiger takes out his gun. Doesn’t want to use it—too much noise anyhow. But it should get the point across. He aims it at the man’s head.
“Shut up now. Understand me?”
The fat man nods his head. Screams fade into foolish whimpers. Snot creeps from his left nostril.
Disgusting.
Am I crazy?
He holsters his weapon and thinks about what Jonas has said. About Asperger’s Syndrome. About autism. He knows Jonas was attempting to rile him, but still...
Could it be true?
He’s crazy, they all say. He’s a serial killer. And aren’t they all bat-shit crazy? Course they are. Must be. Dahmer ate his victims—what normal person would do that?
He kills in the name of God, they say. Uses it as an excuse. The killing just excites him, but he’s convinced himself it’s done for a cause. A just cause. But it’s all a lie, they say. He just wants to kill.
He looks at the body on the floor. The scarlet blood spirals on the hotel walls.
He can’t deny the sight of death excites him. But he knows what he knows, and he is what he is. He was born thus, and God made him. If he’s crazy, it’s only because that’s how it’s supposed to be.
One man’s insanity is another man’s religion.
Too late now anyway, Rudiger thinks. I’m so close. Right or wrong, find out soon enough anyhow. Soon it will all be over.
“Goddamn you,” the Senator says. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Rudiger ignores him, not bothering to tell him that God won’t damn him at all. Not one bit.
“Senator, put the bedspread over the body.” Sidams does.
Rudiger tells him to sit on the bed. Tells the Ambassador to do the same.
“Dismas and Gestas,” Rudiger says, looking at the older men.
“Sidams and Stages,” Jonas replied.
The fat man squeezes his neck. Seems calmer now that the body is hidden under a blanket. “What the hell is he talking about?”
Jonas explains. About the day Christ was crucified. About the two criminals who shared the Glory. Dismas and Gestas.
Rudiger watches the information process behind the Ambassador’s eyes. He sees the exact moment when the fat man realizes what it going to happen. What has to happen. How the man will die. How they all wil
l.
“No,” the man says. “No.”
“Calm down, Bill.”
The Ambassador is close to hysterics again. Rudiger prays for more strength for the man. Would make things much easier.
“But...but there are three of us,” the fat man pleads to the Senator. “He can’t carry us all out of here. And even if he shoots us, it’s better than what else he wants to do.”
There is a silence and then Jonas explains about the woman. About Anne.
“I’m not dying for some woman I don’t even know.”
“Ambassador,” Jonas says. “Just do as you are told.”
“I won’t!”
The fat man leaps off the bed.
Rudiger takes two steps forward and backhands him across the face. The man does a half spin and nearly falls before catching himself. The blow feels good against the bones in his hand. Warming.
He worries about the noise. If someone next door heard the yelling, security could be on the way.
“No more time,” he says. “We have to leave now.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Bill,” the Senator says, “we’re not in a position to dictate terms. Not right now.”
The fat man points a meaty finger at Rudiger. “He can shoot me if he wants. I’m not going anywhere with him.”
“Bill,” Jonas says. “I need you to be strong now. If you don’t go, we’ll all die. Here. Right now.”
“Better to get crucified?”
The Senator lowers his voice, but Rudiger can still hear. “Bill, at least we have a chance if we go with him. We at least buy some time—who knows what might happen? And we don’t guarantee an early death for an innocent woman.”
Rudiger loses interest in their logic. “Stand up, all of you.”
They do.
Rudiger reaches into a closet and pulls down a backpack, a camera, and a hat. From the backpack he removes a press pass that identifies him as an employee of the Associated Press. He also removes a small wireless transmitter. Slips on the hat and pulls the brim down over his forehead.
Nothing he can do to hide his scar.
He opens the backpack and shows it to Jonas. “You know what that is?”
Final Crossing: A Novel of Suspense Page 22
